


Wax Wings

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Canon-typical peril, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5933404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Success gives you confidence. Confidence gives you wings. But don't let your confidence take you too high, or else, those wings just may burn up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wax Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: the characters aren't mine, and the story is! This ficlit was inspired by a tumblr post, and the plotbunny just took on a life of its own, resulting in this. This fic takes place between the events of the pilot and the series proper, very soon after Carter joins the team for good.

Newkirk just wasn't sure of what to make of Carter after he joined the team for good. It was a puzzlement as it was, seeing him come back again after they had painstakingly sent him off to England before. And then there was the question of how he had first arrived as a lieutenant and returned again as a tech sergeant. Carter explained the latter as having been on a special covert assignment the first time that had forced him to masquerade as a lieutenant. As for why he had ended up in Stalag 13 again, he had an answer for that, too—

"I was just plain unlucky, Sir," he had said to Hogan. "That's all there is to it. I was sent down for another covert assignment and ran into trouble again. The other fellas in my team made it okay, though. Both times."

It had been odd; he seemed rather proud of the fact that his comrades on his missions had made it, even if he hadn't. Hogan decided to buy the story, and offered Carter the chance of another escape to England, or a chance to join the team and help others get there instead. Carter immediately jumped for the chance at to join the team.

And so it came to pass that Andrew Carter joined the Unsung Heroes operation. He'd only been with the team for about five weeks, and it was clear that he was still trying to find his niche. Though he was able to impersonate a German very well, so could the others; it was clear that he wanted something that was his trademark quality to offer the team—though he wasn't quite sure as to what that was.

"He's so bloomin' eager," Newkirk mused to LeBeau one morning, as they gathered in the tunnel in preparation for a meeting. "Like a retriever pup just waiting for you to throw the stick so he can bring it back to you."

" _Oui_ ; he's volunteered for more missions in the five weeks than you have the entire time the operation has been running," LeBeau snarked.

"Oh, leave off," Newkirk said, giving the Frenchman a slight swat on the shoulder. "Can I help it if I'm a natural coward?"

Privately though, Newkirk was feeling much more confident about the whole setup. The Unsung Heroes had been operating for months now, like clockwork, with not a single failed mission yet. Though Newkirk and the others had dodged more than a fair share of enemy soldiers, there'd only been one mishap, and that had been Newkirk's own fault; the corporal had been a bit too eager to plot his own escape from Stalag 13, only to have a change of heart later and get injured on the way back.

LeBeau had been ready to say something, but was distracted by the arrival of the rest of the team. Kinch began the meeting by reading off the latest message from London.

"'Last message to be sent using old code system; new code is to be picked up from contact Cinderella at the lobby of the Hausner Hof hotel in Hammelburg at 2200 hours tonight, identification to be code names.' They've been talking about this code switch for some time now, but they still didn't give us much of a window for this rendezvous," the sergeant added.

"If it was for security reasons, they probably didn't have much choice," Hogan said. "Anyway, it's a simple operation; send one man out with another to back him up, make contact with Cinderella, and get back here as soon as possible."

"I'd like to volunteer, Sir!" Carter exclaimed, immediately.

"There's a big surprise…" Newkirk murmured to LeBeau.

"Alright, Carter; the job is yours," Hogan said. "I'd still like another man out there with you, though."

"It cannot possibly be me, Colonel; I shall have to be the one to distract Schultz with strudel that I shall undoubtedly have to make," LeBeau pointed out.

"You know I'd go, Colonel, but I'm still getting over this flu bug," Olsen said. "Wilson says to take it easy a couple more days."

All eyes turned to Newkirk, who merely gazed heavenward in exasperation.

"Oh, blimey… Fine, I'll go," he said. "Can't be more than what… five minutes in the hotel? Nothing to it."

"Just be careful out there—both of you," Hogan said. "Colonel Feldkamp has been sending more patrols into the woods since the last escape we helped set up."

"Right-o," Newkirk said. "When do we leave?"

"Immediately after lights-out," Hogan said. "LeBeau will distract Schultz, and you two head out the emergency tunnel. And no detours; I don't want to hear about you swinging by the Hofbrau for a beer."

"I resent that, Sir!" Carter exclaimed.

"Relax; 'e was talking about me," Newkirk said.

"Oh. Okay."

The Englishman gave the young sergeant a look, but said nothing, ignoring both him and the Frenchman, who had a smirk on his face.

* * *

Newkirk had to admit that he could've used a beer. Everything had gone like clockwork in the Hausner Hof; a shake of the hand had transmitted the new code from their contact (who had ended up being a chambermaid at the hotel, ironically suiting the Cinderella code name perfectly). Newkirk had proceeded to turn on the charm, only to instantly retreat upon finding out that her husband would be soon arriving to take her out of town now that her work had been completed.

"Better luck next time, huh?" Carter teased, as they headed through the woods on their way back to Stalag 13.

"Leave off…" Newkirk muttered. "It's all well and good for you; you've got a bird waiting back 'ome for you."

"Yup," the sergeant said, proudly. His smile soon faded, however, and he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Newkirk didn't seem to notice this; he continued with his rant.

"We're not all as lucky as you, Andrew—though 'ow lucky you are can be debated, seeing as though you ended up 'ere again…" The corporal finally noticed that Carter had stopped. "Andrew—"

"Shh!"

Newkirk blinked in surprise as Carter now knelt down, removed a glove, and felt the ground.

"Someone's been through here—very recently."

"Must be Feldkamp's patrols," Newkirk said, waving a hand in dismissal. "We can cut around them and make it back to camp without too much trouble."

"I don't know…" Carter said. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Look at the depressions in the ground. They weren't trying to be stealthy like they should've been if they were trying to catch someone. I don't think they were here looking for escaped prisoners or underground agents; they were marching through here with a purpose."

"Right, so we nip back to camp before they come back," Newkirk said.

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not going to be that simple?" Carter wondered aloud. "You know, I really think we should find an alternate way back to camp."

"Andrew, if Feldkamp's men are in the woods, wouldn't it make more sense to spend as little time in the woods as necessary?" Newkirk pointed out. "We can divert if we come across anyone; we've done it at least three dozen times already!"

Newkirk wasn't worried; extra soldiers in the woods were easily avoidable, as far as he was concerned. Seeing that Carter wouldn't lead the way, Newkirk did. The sergeant hesitated, but followed.

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to why Feldkamp's men aren't even making an effort to hide themselves?" Carter asked. "It could be a trap!"

"Well, if you'll stop your nattering, that'll give me a chance to hear what's ahead, won't it?" Newkirk countered.

Carter didn't reply; he was staring up ahead at the ground.

"Newkirk… Newkirk, wait! I don't think—"

The English corporal had continued onward—and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks as he stepped on something that was clearly out-of-place on the forest floor. Something decidedly man-made gave under his foot, but that wasn't what bothered the corporal—it was the ominous ticking sound that followed.

"Don't move," Carter ordered, getting down on his hands and knees near Newkirk. He moved some of the brush aside that had been placed there to conceal the trap—a switch, which had wires leading away from it.

"Is it a mine…?" Newkirk asked, his face as pale as a ghost.

"No, but it's pretty darn close," Carter said, following the wires to a small, ticking device about a foot away from Newkirk. "It's an explosive charge, alright—you just activated the timer. So _that's_ what Feldkamp's men were doing out here… They were setting these deathtraps."

"…Should we run?" Newkirk asked.

"The moment you remove your foot from that switch, the loss of pressure will likely set the charge off right away."

Newkirk shut his eyes. He had been overconfident, and now, he was paying for it with his life.

"…'ow long 'ave I got?"

"Timer's set for three minutes; you've got two left," Carter said. He was mulling over something in his mind as he stood up. "There's one thing that'll work, though…"

"What? I'll try anything!"

Quick as a flash, Carter swept his own foot across the ground, kicking Newkirk's foot off of the switch while simultaneously placing his own weight on the switch.

"Get going back to camp—but be careful about other traps," he said.

"Andrew, _are you mad_!?" the corporal gasped, as he stared at the sergeant.

"A minute-and-a-half left; you'd better go!" Carter said, holding out the codebook. "Take the code back to the colonel and tell him what happened."

"I can't leave you here!" Newkirk protested. "That's supposed to be me standing there, not you!"

"Well, not anymore," Carter said. " _You've_ got to complete the mission now. Newkirk, don't make me have to pull rank on you!"

Newkirk took the codebook, but stared with haunted eyes as he backed away.

"Go!" Carter exclaimed. "There's only a minute left! You gotta get as far away from here as you can!"

Newkirk ran, though his insides burned with self-hatred for every step he took. He had been too upset to keep track of time, and was only just barely managing to make sure he wasn't stumbling into another trap when the explosion went off somewhere behind him.

Carter was dead because of him—because Newkirk had been too overconfident. Carter had sensed something amiss from the moment he had noticed that there had been enemy activity in the woods, yet Newkirk had dismissed him completely, gotten himself into a deadly predicament, and Carter had gotten him out of it at the cost of his own life.

Suddenly, it made a horrible amount of sense as to why Carter had been captured twice, but his comrades had not; no doubt, the sergeant had allowed himself to be captured in order to ensure their escape and success on their missions.

The corporal heard some noises up ahead and concealed himself in the undergrowth near a tree. Several men in black uniforms—Feldkamp's men, no doubt—were quickly heading towards the site of the explosion.

It was the smarmy looks on their faces that simultaneously chilled and angered the Englishman. He knew they were going to have a good gloat over the sergeant's fate, and then ready more traps in the woods now that they knew this would work.

Momentarily, Newkirk considered using his pencil sharpener to take out one of them—to avenge Carter. The impulse passed as he reminded himself that he had to complete the mission. That would've meant more to Carter than anything. And, so, once the coast was clear, Newkirk continued back to camp, though now there was an added feeling of guilt sparked by the thought that he should've gone back and recovered what was left of his teammate. He should've been able to do that.

An eternity seemed to pass before he reached the tree stump that concealed the entrance to the emergency tunnel. Newkirk took a moment to dodge the watchtower searchlight and gather his own mettle before going inside.

He met Kinch first, in the radio room. The staff sergeant looked up for a moment, and then did a double-take as he registered the look on Newkirk's face—and the fact that he had returned alone.

"What happened…?" he asked.

Newkirk silently handed him the codebook, unable to do anything other than shake his head. Kinch called for the colonel; the urgency in his voice drew LeBeau and Olsen along with Hogan. And all of them had the same question Kinch had.

It was a while before Newkirk was able to speak.

"…Feldkamp's men 'ad explosive traps out there in there in the woods; they'd only just put them in while we were in town. …I activated one, and Andrew practically forced me to scarper with the codebook before it went off."

"And it's a lucky thing I did!" a new voice exclaimed. "There's no way you would've gotten yourself out of it!"

" _Andrew_!?" Newkirk exclaimed, as everyone stared at the sergeant, who had just arrived from the tunnel entrance. His civilian disguise was in tatters, but aside from a few burns and a few wounds caused by shrapnel, he was no worse for wear.

"Hi, Fellas," Carter said. "Sorry I'm late; Feldkamp's men just kept on coming, and _boy_ were they steamed when they couldn't find me. It took me forever just to find a chance to slip away."

Newkirk just walked up to him, touching the sergeant's shoulder to make sure that he was real.

"Sure glad you made it back without too much trouble," Carter added. "Hey, you okay, Peter?"

"Carter…" Hogan said, his tone of voice betraying how stunned he was to see him here. "…Newkirk had written you off as a loss."

"To tell you the truth, I'd written _myself_ off as a loss," the young sergeant admitted. "After I made sure Peter got out of there, I decided to take a chance and try rewiring the charge. I managed to give me a little bit more time on the timer, which I used to disable the pressure-sensitive switch. I didn't want to take my chances dismantling the whole thing, so I just got out of there—still got caught in a bit of the blast radius, as you can see. …Sorry for worrying you guys."

"That's… putting it mildly," Kinch said.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me you were going to dismantle the ruddy thing!?" Newkirk suddenly exclaimed. "I thought I'd left you for dead!"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up in case it didn't work," Carter admitted. "I had no way of knowing whether German explosives would be like ours. Luckily, they were close enough."

"…Oh, Cor, I need a drink," the Englishman said, now turning away.

"I think we could all use one," Hogan agreed, as LeBeau retrieved a bottle of brandy that he had stashed away. "But, Carter… Why didn't you tell us before that you'd had experience with demolitions?"

"…I guess it just never came up in the conversation, Sir."

"Well, after Wilson patches you up, we're going to discuss your role as the new demolitions expert of the team."

"You've got it, Boy! …Uh, Sir!"

* * *

Despite seeing that Cater's spirits hadn't been dampened one iota, Newkirk was still a bundle of nerves as he sat at the table in the barracks. LeBeau now sat down next to him with another glass with some brandy in it.

"We had a little bit left over; you look as though you need it."

"No amount of brandy is going to change the fact that Andrew nearly died because of me," Newkirk said, flatly.

"Pierre…"

"And there's nothing you can say that can change it, either!" Newkirk quipped. "Andrew _warned_ me something was off with the footprints, but I didn't pay any attention! I was thinking nothing could possibly stop us, so I just kept on trampling through the woods like a ruddy fool and activated that trap!"

"Pierre, you could not have known that there would have been explosives there! Even if the both of you had been careful, one of you might have activated it anyway!"

"The fact remains that I could have been more careful about the whole blooming thing!" Newkirk shot back.

" _Oui_ ; now you know what to do. Be more careful."

"You won't 'ave to tell me that twice," the Englishman vowed.

"And furthermore, we have all learned a valuable lesson from this," LeBeau added. "We shall all be more careful from now on."

"Well," Carter said, coming up from the bunk bed trapdoor. "Wilson gave me a clean bill of health and the colonel's going to ask London to supply us with explosives so that I can help us start a sabotage operation!"

" _Très bon_ ," LeBeau commented.

"Oh, and there's more; Kinch was listening in on the switchboard just now. Some of the camp guards on patrol heard the explosion; they got word to Klink, and he's getting word to Burkhalter about Feldkamp's bombs. I have a feeling that Burkhalter isn't going to take too kindly to a method that puts the camp guards in as much danger as us, meaning that the woods will hopefully be bomb-free pretty soon. Colonel Hogan wants us to take it easy until we're a hundred percent sure about that, though, so we're not going to be running any missions for a while."

"If that means I don't have to make more strudel for a while, I am fine with that," LeBeau declared.

Newkirk had been quiet for a while, but seeing Carter speak, his good mood unaltered by the bandages that Wilson had put on him, had forced the corporal to remind himself once again that the sergeant's condition was his fault. Newkirk had remained silent as Carter went on and on, but he knew that he had to say something.

"Andrew, I owe you an apology—"

"No, you don't," the sergeant said, without missing a beat. "I know I haven't been here for the whole operation, but I know about how you guys have never failed a mission yet. Things become so routine, you don't expect things to go wrong, but then they do, and you feel just awful afterwards. But you what won't help? Beating yourself up about it. So, I'm ordering you as sergeant to stop blaming yourself over what happened out there tonight."

LeBeau let out a mock scoff as Newkirk gave Carter a look.

"He seems so serious, _mon pote_ ; you had best obey his orders!"

"Alright, I get it," Newkirk said. Secretly, however, he was sure he would be carrying the weight of this for a while. But, LeBeau was right about one thing; everyone had made it through the incident, and they would all be more careful from now on—more careful, and, In Newkirk's case, more protective, as well.

His pride had caused a fall, but it was a fall from which, thankfully, they would all recover.


End file.
